The Candlestick Chronicles by Cjay

Chapter Nine: Sagacious

The veteran pilot eased his helicopter down, landing in the middle of the street. Bodies littered what looked like a quiet neighborhood park. Camouflaged men swarmed the perimeter. A huge black man dragged another from a copse of trees by the scruff of his neck. "Holy... what the hell happened here?" Bates tossed over his shoulder to the two flight nurses riding in back.

Despite a recent tour of duty in Iraq, Harvey Jenkins exchanged a grim look with his partner, Ted Winter. Neither expected to find this kind of carnage scattered across a Colorado suburban parkland. "I count four down."

Without further comment, the pair each hefted a heavy emergency pack and hopped onto the asphalt, ducking beneath the chopper's spinning blades.

A female colonel, clad in her dress uniform and another man garbed in fatigues, hovered over a blood-spattered civilian sprawled on the grass. Using hand gestures, Harvey pointed his partner toward several other neglected bodies and loped over to the trio to administer aid.

Sam squeezed Jon O'Neill's cold, limp hand willing him to hang on. His unlined face was so pale it seemed translucent. "Damn you Jon, fight!"

Kearney reinforced the saturated field dressings already covering Jon's wound and pressed down with his full weight. Glancing up, he spotted the rescue worker headed their way. "Thank God, he's lost so much blood..."

"How many dressings you got there?" Gently pushing the distraught colonel aside, Jenkins knelt and swiftly opened his pack. "How long has he been unconscious?"

"I'm not really sure... a few minutes maybe... three pads saturated through, I just added a fourth." Kearney responded woodenly, but his eyes registered torment. "God, he is barely breathing..."

"You're doing great sir; just keep that pressure on his wound." Jenkins rapidly assessed the victim and grabbed an intubation kit, whistling for his partner. "He's in shock..."

The experienced nurse spared the two officers a compassionate look. "We're gonna insert an endotracheal tube into his windpipe, he needs oxygen and we need to bag him."

Ted Winter joined his partner. "Looks like this one is the only survivor."

Working in tandem, the seasoned flight nurses quickly accomplished the intubation procedure and started several intravenous lines in Jon's forearms.

Transferring the youth to a collapsible gurney, the flight crew loaded him into the waiting chopper.

Sam attempted to join Jon inside the belly of the helicopter, but the pilot stopped her. "I'm sorry ma'am."

The colonel moved out of the path of the rotating blades, her face a mask of regret and sorrow. The pilot secured the door and jumped into his seat, executing a hasty takeoff.

Inside the gleaming metal bird, Jenkins and Winter continued the fight to keep the kid's rapidly failing body alive. Hooking his breathing tube up to a portable respirator, Ted carefully tucked warm blankets around his legs. "So this is General O'Neill's nephew... I served under him briefly... He was as tough as an old boot."

Harvey adjusted the flow clip on the dual IV tubing. He hoped infusing two liters of blood and a liter of Lactated Ringers at a rapid rate would replenish some of the volume the youngster had already lost.

The EKG waves on their patient's heart monitor screamed asystole. "Son of a... he's gone flatline... we're losing him..."

"Charging paddles... 300 Joules... stand clear... clear!" Jenkins pressed the paddles against Jon's hairless chest. Thumbing the mechanism, he sent a jolt of electric current racing through the slender youth's body, forcing his heart to start beating once more. "Hot damn, this kid's a fighter..."

While Harvey hung another liter of blood, Ted continued to apply pressure to the lad's still seeping shoulder wound. "Hey Harvey, better radio ahead and tell them it looks like they're gonna need to plug a leaky artery."

"Sure thing." Jenkins opened a channel to the SGC. "Lucky for the kid we were en-route to Petersen when the call came in, another few minutes and he'd of been knocking on heaven's door."

***

Major Paul Davis walked briskly along the corridor beside Sergeant Walter Davis. "So Walter, this Captain Carson, is he the best surgeon we have?"

"Yes, sir." Walter had been on duty for almost twenty-four hours without a break and the pace they were setting, a combination sprint-walk, made his legs ache. "I've also taken the liberty of recalling all off duty medical personnel."

"Good, saves me the trouble of making that order." The major commended. "And Captain Brightman?"

"Released from the brig, with an escort, as per your order, sir." Pressing the up button on the elevator control panel, he continued, "The main level reported Captain Carson was about to sign in when the order went out. He's awaiting the chopper on the helipad along with a medical team."

Awed by the little sergeant's efficiency, the Pentagon liaison patted him on the back and entered the open elevator. "Good work."

"Thank you, sir." Walter responded tightly.

The sergeant was uneasy. Few SGC personnel were privy to young Jon O'Neill's real identity. Of course, as O'Neill's aid-de-camp he was one of them. Keeping a tight lid on his feeling of dread was awkward, but under the circumstances necessary. What if they lost him too? Using his index finger, he selected the infirmary level, carefully keeping his face blank.

It was a short ride. The two exited the conveyance at the same rapid pace and set off, each wondering how critical the incoming 'youth' would be.

Paul Davis hated infirmaries; he hated any form of hospital whatsoever. Gratefully, he rarely spent time in one as a patient. Still, he'd visited the SGC's top officers here on more than one occasion.

In the past, Dr. Janet Fraiser had been on hand to reassure him all would be well. She instinctively understood his aversion and put him at ease. Once she'd gently teased him about it, and strangely that humor helped. Without her presence he braced himself for his usual response, extreme nausea. "So Walter, tell me about Carson?"

Pulled from his own reverie, the sergeant chose his words with caution. "Well sir, the captain has a spotless record..."

Walter's tone had taken on a prudent quality; one which the major had quickly learned indicated there was a 'but' coming. "But?" He prodded, stopping short and rocking back on his heels.

Walter fixed his eyes on the major's beribboned chest. "He's earned a bit of a reputation..."

Gesturing with his hand, the amused officer interjected, "Reputation, as in?"

"Well major, General O'Neill called him 'Kit,' sir." Walter told him tentatively wearing a ghost of a smile. "The general hand picked him; he found his attitude... admirable."

Jeez this was like pulling teeth. "Attitude?"

"He's a bit of loose cannon..." Walter continued.

Paul Davis smirked. "In other words?"

Walter's ghost of a smile turned into a wistful grin. "His style is a lot like General O'Neill's."

***

The helicopter bearing Jon O'Neill had 'no room for passengers.' Both Colonel Carter and Teal'c took their forced separation from him stoically. Each channeled their barely controlled alarm in differing ways.

Colonel Carter seemed to draw inward, standing silently beside Major Kearney gazing upward long after the helicopter became a mere speck in the darkening sky.

Teal'c used his smoldering need for restitution to intimidate the airman who'd wronged his warrior brother's other self. Releasing the man without snapping his worthless neck had proven to be most difficult for the Jaffa. On his world the dishonorable worm would be dealt with immediately and with unerring finality. The Tau'ri's peculiar concept of 'justice' might hamper him, but it would not deter him from ultimately gaining retribution.

Staring coldly into the man's eyes, the determined extraterrestrial directed his words toward the chief security officer. "I shall accompany this vermin to the SGC, Major Kearney."

Flanked by four security men, the offending airman trembled. Licking his lips nervously, his beady eyes darted back and forth between the enraged faces of the major and the enormous Jaffa.

The major understood and appreciated both the Jaffa's motive, and his restraint. Personally, Kearney looked forward to the former First Prime's method of interrogation. Nodding, the emotionally drained major directed several SF's to cuff their prisoner.

Then, dividing his remaining forces into two groups, Kearney ordered Captain Martin Butterfield and his squad to secure the address Clare had informed Jon and Teal'c was Wellington's local base of operations.

He assigned Lieutenant Anthony Lunette and his team the thankless task of interfacing with the local authorities and removing the bodies strewn around the deceptively idyllic park.

Next, he contacted the SGC to inquire as to just who would be administering Jon O'Neill's urgently needed treatment. Pleased with the information gleaned, he shared it with the Jaffa and Colonel Carter knowing they were as anxious as he himself was. "Captain Carson and a team are already standing on the helipad."

"What about Brightman?" Sam demanded shaking off her stupor. Carson was fine, but he'd need backup. She still desperately missed Janet and found Brightman to be a steadying presence.

"Despite his undisciplined style, Captain Carson is most sagacious, Colonel Carter." Teal'c reassured her, regard for the physician evident in both his tone and manner. "O'Neill would be pleased."

"I know the general hand-picked the captain Teal'c, it's just that..." Sam bit her lip, eyes downcast.

Perceptive as ever, Teal'c sought to reassure his friend, drawing her aside, he spoke softly. "Perhaps, much as Daniel Jackson once did, Dr. Fraiser ascended and is providing Captain Carson inspiration."

Desperate, Sam entertained the notion. "Do you think the general might also be hovering around somewhere?" She whispered, brightening.

"I do indeed." The Jaffa told her soberly, casting a prayer for both incarnations of his warrior brother skyward.

Sam muttered a prayer of her own. Quickly filling the men beside her in on her afternoon 'pursuit,' she caught Malcolm's eye and made a decision. "Teal'c you go along to the base with Kearney. I'm going to update Daniel by phone and ride along with Special Agents Barrett and Drew."

"Teal'c can handle the prisoner. I'll be accompanying Captain Butterfield and his men." Kearney informed them, his tone menacing. "Given that he discovered you were tailing him Colonel, I know it's a long-shot, but if Wellington is still there I want first crack at him."

"Agreed." Gathering his armor of dignity, Teal'c refocused on the task at hand. Bowing slightly, he joined the hapless prisoner's escort.

Sam suddenly found she was feeling weak. Returning to the sedan, she joined Barrett and his assistant inside.

Malcolm noticed her pallor. "When did you last have something to eat, Sam?" He inquired with concern.

"I've lost track..." Sam rubbed her cold hands together. "I need to update Daniel."

Handing her a protein bar and a bottle of water, Barrett snapped open his cell phone and dialed the required number. "I'll do it, you eat."

Sam accepted the bar and began eating without enthusiasm. Barrett's phone rang O'Neill's house, connecting with his machine.

***

"The general is going to be pea green with envy! I can't wait to show him that enormous trout you caught, Dad." Travis Dalton chortled. "He's so going to wish he'd come along this weekend."

"Anyone ever tell you that you've got a mean streak?" Grinning fondly, Andy Dalton cuffed his teenage son affectionately keeping one eye on the roadway ahead. "Poor old Jack. Every time we plan a fishing trip something holds him up at the base."

"I don't get it. He's a general, why can't he just order someone else to handle things?" Travis asked petulantly. He'd been looking forward to spending the weekend with both his dad and his hero, the General. "What's the use of being in charge if you can't..."

"Dump your responsibilities on someone else?" Andy asked wearily, returning both hands to the truck's steering wheel.

Sadly, he'd heard the same argument from the boy's mother countless times. Sheriff Andrew Dalton's official duties interfered once too often with his 'personal responsibilities.' His wife Sandra eventually gave up; divorced him and found herself a nice stable accountant.

Now, Andy had to content himself with a few eagerly anticipated weekends with his son, his job and his weekly poker game. "Travis, I wish..."

Hearing the hurt and frustration in his father's tone, Travis regretted his outburst. "Never mind, Dad."

While his mother remained resentful, Travis was proud of his dad. Admittedly up until about a year ago, he hadn't really understood Andrew Dalton's commitment to 'duty and honor.' No, in fact he'd done everything he could think of to give his father a hard time. He'd been a complete brat, often refusing to even spend one hour with his eternally patient sire.

Things came to a head when his mom and stepfather had gone off to Paris leaving him behind in the sheriff's custody.

That first night, his dad's poker buddies came around for their regular game unaware of the obnoxious little monster awaiting them. He'd been deliberately rude, demanding and out of control. He wanted - needed - his father to suffer. Oh yes, Travis's behavior would make any parent cringe. Yet, his dad remained calm and patient.

***

Jack O'Neill sat quietly and watched his friend Andy attempt to deal with his unreasonable offspring. The kid's antics reminded him of his own son's similar cantankerous behavior after he'd returned from a particularly long tour of duty. Charlie had been around six at the time and hadn't understood. Jack wasn't sure that his boy ever really understood his dad's obligations; he'd died much too young.

The kid scooped up the poker chips and tossed them into the air. Andy finally had it. "Travis that is enough!" He bellowed.

Frightened by the volume and anger in his father's tone, Travis ran out the backdoor and sat on the porch. He sat there fighting tears, his body curled into a protective lump, arms wrapped around his drawn up knees and waited. Long minutes passed. No one came.

And then, the screen door squeaked. Light footsteps sounded against the wooden porch floor. A man's low sigh was followed by a large body sitting next to him. Expecting his father, Travis refused to look up.

"Ya know, I had a kid once." The general's voice was carefully devoid of emotion. "His name was Charlie and he used to do outrageous things too. It took me a while, but I finally figured out why; he wanted my undivided attention."

Travis turned his head slightly, peeping at the tall man in the moonlight. "So, did he get it?"

Jack casually threw one long arm around the child's shaking shoulders and waited. The kid tensed briefly and then, small body relaxing a little, seemed to snuggle closer. "Yep, but not after a performance like the one you just put on. Nope, behavior like that usually bought him a time-out."

Jack paused, allowing his words to sink in. "Your dad loves you Travis. He generally bores us to tears bragging about what a great kid you are."

Travis sat up and leaned his head against the general's broad shoulder. "Really?" He asked in a small voice.

"Never doubt it, kid." Jack responded solemnly, squeezing the kid's shoulder. "Now, suppose you go on in and apologize."

Getting up thoughtfully, Travis stopped and looked down at the general's smiling face. "What happened to your son?"

The general bowed his head quickly, preventing the kid from seeing the pain his question caused. "I lost him."

The desolation in those three short words washed over the youngster; and in that moment Travis grew up a tad. "I'm sorry." Wrapping his arms around the general's neck, the contrite youth gave the aching man a quick hug.

Jack awkwardly patted the kid's back. After a moment, Travis released him and ran inside to see his dad.

The lonely commander sat out on the porch gazing up at the stars. Travis's heartfelt apology rang through the quiet night. Jack missed Charlie. He lost track of the time, sitting there, sipping his beer and hearing the others laughingly teach Travis the art of poker. Until finally, his butt felt numb and the long necked bottle was empty. Once more in full control of his emotions, he returned to the poker game as if nothing happened.

***

Travis remembered that night with a pang. Since then he'd learned just how Jack O'Neill lost his son, and much more. He'd learned to respect men like his dad and the general, and their commitment to a purpose greater than themselves. "Hey, why don't we stop by the general's on the way home and give him a couple of trout?"

Checking the time and the roadway, Andy estimated they were less than a mile outside of town. "Okay, why not. I think old Jack would like that."

"Sweet!" Travis smiled. The general had a load of cool metals and stuff. "Hey Dad, can I turn on the police radio?"

"Sure thing." Andy nodded. He didn't mind sharing his son's affections with a man like Jack O'Neill. "I should check in with the station and see if there is anything pressing going on."

The radio crackled to life greeting them with static. "Looks like everything is quiet," Andy began.

The disembodied and detached voice of the dispatch operator filled the air. "Attention. 911 operator reports assault and battery at the residence of the late General Jonathan O'Neill... one man down with a gunshot wound... assailants no longer on the premises..."

Dalton pressed his foot heavily against his Ford's accelerator. Swerving onto the shoulder, emergency lights flashing, he grabbed his radio handset. "This is Sheriff Dalton, I'm responding to the call... what the hell do you mean 'late General O'Neill?'..."

"Sheriff? This is Nancy Allen, I'm sorry... we tried to reach you at home..." Uncomfortable, the operator took a deep breath and continued, "The general was killed late Friday in an automobile accident."

Jack was dead? Dalton glanced sidelong at his wide-eyed son's shocked face.

"Deputies Wyatt and Preston are en-route to the O'Neill residence Sheriff," Nancy continued. "Along with an ambulance."

"Understood, my ETA is approximately five minutes. Tell those two to secure the area before the ambulance personnel approach the house." If Jack was dead, then who the hell was in his house? His son was dead and his ex-wife was long gone.

Dalton knew Jack's job was classified. 'Deep space telemetry,' yeah right. Andy had been in the military himself and knew a phony cover story when he heard it. Besides, Jack's multiple 'training accidents' over the years made it clear he was doing much more than piloting a desk. "Travis, I'm going to drop you off at that park down the street from Jack's place. You wait for me there."

"Oh come on, Dad!" Travis whined. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm not disputing that son." Andy smiled grimly. At thirteen, Travis was fully capable of handling a schoolyard bully, but a perp was an altogether different animal. "Look pal, we have no idea what's going down. I just found out I've lost a friend, I don't want to risk you too."

Hearing the love in his father's tone, Travis reluctantly agreed.

"And besides," Andy muttered, "Your mother would kill me."

***

Kris eyed their uninvited guest with disdain. Pushing him into a straight-backed wooden chair, she used surgical tape to secure his right wrist to the sturdy oak.

Jeff hovered nearby, his weapon still poised, his expression grim. The guy's identification revealed he was Air Force, but that didn't mean much. He could be one of the men involved in the plot against the general.

Kris used the thick tape to secure the man's legs to the chair. Leaning over, she whispered scathingly in his ear. "Ya know men often underestimate women." Taking her time, she examined the ragged flesh of his left hand. Mischief had certainly done her job well. "I mean, most men think we're soft hearted. But... cross us and..."

Clucking her tongue, Kris moved to a large cabinet and selected a bottle of disinfectant and gauze dressings.

"Let's just say our bite is worse than our bark." Grabbing his abused hand roughly, she poured the stringent fluid over his wounds. "So I'll ask you once again, what are you doing here?"

Hissing, the watcher tensed his muscles fighting the burning sensation her abrupt actions and the harsh disinfectant caused. Clenching his jaw, he refused to utter a sound.

Disappointed, Kris callously drenched his ravaged flesh once more. Her stomach churned. She knew she was being cruel, but the general's life was in danger, desperate times and all that.

"And who the hell are you?" The watcher bit out between gasps through clenched teeth.

"I asked first." Kris responded her smile was twisted and cold.

This was getting them nowhere. "Enough." Jeff ordered quietly.

He'd never seen this side of her. Her lack of compassion surprised him. "Does he need stitches?"

Jeff's manner pierced her fog of wrath.

"I don't think so; our furry little champion's teeth are very small." She responded softly, applying antibiotic ointment to the injured man's many puncture wounds. "A few of these are rather deep. He'll need a dose of antibiotics."

The watcher raised an ironic brow. "What the hell is this? Am I supposed to believe you actually give a rat's ass?" He snorted with disbelief. "Look you've seen my credentials. I'm an Air Force officer, investigating a possible crime."

"Crime?" Jeff stepped forward shaking his head with disapproval. "The only crime here is breaking and entering."

"Breaking and entering?" The beleaguered officer snapped. Taking a steadying breath, he changed his approach. "This is a clinic, right? The door was open; I came here for some answers."

"Answers? You want answers? Generally folks stop at the desk and ring my bell. They don't slink into the back toting a gun." The amazed doctor's eyebrows connected with his hairline. "No, I think I've got the right of it."

The watcher sighed. "I disagree."

Jeff eyed him appraisingly. "What is it you want to know?"

Ignoring his question, the bound officer glared at the woman in front of him. "The lady here intrigues me."

Kris wrapped fresh gauze around their prisoner's injured hand. "Should I be flattered?"

"Hardly." Lifting his bandaged hand, he looked the dressing over. "Your expansively benevolent nature notwithstanding... I'm guessing you're a nurse, an odd one at that. One who engages in clandestine meetings in seedy bars in the middle of the afternoon."

Startled, Kris perched on the treatment table nearby. He'd tailed her from the bar? "I don't know what..."

"You met Captain Brightman at The Blue Harbor." He went on. "I followed her from the base. Her bulging coat pockets aroused my somewhat dubious nature. As did your friendly little chat and her hasty departure - minus that same fat little coat."

He paused watching her reactions carefully. "Guess where that coat ended up?"

The woman's small pink tongue slid worriedly over her lush lower lip, the watcher smirked. "Yep, you stuffed it into your motorcycle's saddlebag and brought it here. I want to know why?"

Jeff's head moved back and forth watching the exchange. Kris's face flushed; their guest's looked smug. "You want me to believe that you broke into my clinic because this Captain Brightman lost her coat?"

Focusing on the indignant physician, the watcher cocked his head to one side. "Very well played. You gave that just the right amount of self-righteous anger, but we both know I didn't break in."

"You had no business entering one of my treatment rooms. My patients are entitled to both their privacy and confidentiality." Jeff barked refusing to be cowed. "You had no right!"

Crap! This was nuts. Kris wondered if the guy was legit. "Listen mister, all you witnessed was an innocent meeting between friends, nothing more."

"Oh, I don't doubt it was friendly, but innocent?" The officer shook his head, expelling a long breath with a false smile. "Not likely."

Okay it was time to regroup. "I think I've heard enough." Jeff walked over and carefully secured the man's bandaged arm to the chair.

Frustrated by the interruption, the watcher muttered a string of expletives.

Jeff whistled softly. "Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?" Shaking his head, he led Kris from the room.

The two moved thoughtfully down the hall without a word. Jeff leaned his rifle against the wall outside the general's room and tiptoed in to check on his condition.

Kris dogged his steps feeling contrite. "Some guardian I turned out to be." She mumbled ruefully. "What do we do now?"

"Self-flagellation is a waste of energy." Jeff looked up from his perusal of the monitors surrounding the general's bed. "We wait for your buddy Teal'c to call and inform him of our uninvited colonel's identity."

Wrapping her arms around her waist in a gesture of self-comfort, Kris accepted his absolution.

Using her chin, she gestured toward the helpless man in the bed. "How is he?"

Before Jeff could respond, Kris's cell phone chirped.

***

The house was alive with activity. Sheriff Dalton pulled his truck alongside the curb and climbed out, gun drawn. Deputy Ethan Wyatt met him as he moved up the front walk.

Responding to Dalton's questioning look, Wyatt began his report. "The building is secure, Sheriff. We arrived at 2032 hours to find the doors standing open. Checking the house and grounds we found an elderly lady sitting on the back deck, cradling an injured man, in his early thirties."

Checking his notepad, Wyatt continued, "The woman identified herself as Molly O'Connor and the gunshot victim as one Dr. Daniel Jackson. She stated he'd been attacked by persons unknown and that a Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey has been kidnapped. Preston is still checking the surrounding area and the medical team is assessing Jackson's injuries."

Dalton listened silently to Wyatt's litany, his face an unreadable mask. "Stay sharp." Patting the green deputy, he walked around to the back of the house using a flashlight to scan the grounds for clues.

Draped in a blanket, Sassy refused to leave Daniel's side. Nor would she relinquish him fully to the paramedics attempting to assess his wounds. In the blink of an eye, she'd lost Jonathan, dear Jennifer was missing and Danny lay bleeding in her arms. Clearly, there had been quite a struggle and yet, she'd heard not a sound. Sassy suspected she'd never sleep easy again.

Andy took in the sight of the woman; arms still wrapped around Jackson, her face a mask of sorrow and squatted down beside her. "Mrs. O'Connor, I'm Sheriff Andrew Dalton. Jack was a friend of mine; he told me a great deal about you, ma'am. I'm here to help."

Sassy looked cautiously up into the man's weathered face. "Sheriff Dalton? Yes, Jonathan spoke of you often... he's... we buried him this morning, Andrew." A single tear rolled slowly down her still smooth cheek. "And now Daniel's been attacked and they've taken Jennifer..."

Gently taking her hands, Dalton nodded to the paramedics. "I need you to explain all this to me Sassy; suppose we let the paramedics take care of Daniel while we talk?"

Realizing she'd been hampering the medical team's efforts, Sassy allowed the kind officer to assist her to her feet and lead her to a nearby deckchair.

"Now..." Andy began in a soft tone, "Who took Jennifer?"

"I don't know. I didn't hear a thing." Focusing stricken eyes on the men aiding Daniel, Sassy mentally shook herself, collecting her thoughts. "We'd gathered here after the cemetery service for an informal wake..."

"We, as in?" Dalton interrupted calmly.

The paramedics removed Sassy's makeshift bandage and ripped Daniel's bloody trouser leg open, exposing an ugly gunshot wound.

Clenching her trembling hands, Sassy licked her lips. "Myself, Dr. Daniel Jackson and Lieutenant Jennifer Hailey. Colonel Carter, Teal'c Murray and Jonathan's nephew, Jon, traveled in separate automobiles and were supposed to meet us here."

One of the paramedics examined Daniel's leg, while the other inserted an enormous needle into in his right forearm.

"They were supposed to meet you, but something happened...?" Dalton coaxed.

The paramedic finished starting the intravenous fluids. Laying the clear bag of solution over his shoulder, he applied a large gauze pad to Daniel's left temple. Then, he secured it in place with a piece of tape.

Sassy grimaced. "I don't know what happened exactly. Daniel told me they'd been delayed; he suggested I take a nap. I'd been up over twenty-four hours you see..."

As the paramedic tending his leg wound, prodded the area, Daniel moaned, fighting them.

Sassy jumped up. Pushing past the intent officer, she knelt beside Daniel once more, grasping his left hand. "It's alright Danny, I'm here."

Daniel stilled, his eyes fluttered open. "Sass?"

"Yes, Danny, it's your old Sass." Careful not to squeeze his battered fingers to hard, she crooned, "Rest easy love, these kind gentlemen are here to help you."

The medic tending Jackson's leg applied fresh pressure dressings to both the entrance and exit wounds in his torn thigh.

Daniel sucked in a fortifying breath. Biting his lip, fighting the searing agony of his left leg, he tried to focus, recognizing in turn, the lady hovering over him, the uniformed paramedics and the sheriff. "Dalton... thank God... my cell phone is on the kitchen table..."

Deputy Preston, returning from his sweep of the perimeter overheard. "The guy's out of his head."

Dalton gave his know-it-all deputy a quelling look. Jackson seemed lucid enough. "Who do you need me to call?"

Swallowing back another moan, Daniel attempted to explain. "Hailey's life is in jeopardy... You need to contact the base at Cheyenne Mountain, speak with Colonel Carter..."

"Find the phone Preston." Dalton ordered.

"Excuse me Sheriff." The lead paramedic pulled the lawman aside. "This man has lost a good deal of blood. I'd like to transport him to the hospital immediately."

"Not just yet." Dalton told him shortly. "This man is attached to the military base up at the mountain; they will most likely want him to be taken there for treatment."

"Delaying this man's transport to a trauma unit is insane! I won't be responsible." Outraged, the paramedic huffed.

"No problem. I'll take responsibility." Hunkering down next to the wounded man, Andy dismissed the medics. "Excuse us for minute gentlemen."

Unsure as to just how much Mrs. O'Connor really knew about her Jonathan, he lowered his voice. "Look Daniel, I don't know you very well, but I did know Jack O'Neill. Suppose you tell me what the hell is really going on."

***

Captain Kyle 'Kit' Carson slipped his safety goggles on, adjusting them over the bridge of his aquiline nose. According to the duty sergeant the inbound patient was critical – and General O'Neill's nephew.

The kid had taken a hit to his left shoulder and was losing blood rapidly. The onboard flight nurses reported they'd started several intravenous lines, running both Ringers and whole blood wide open. They'd almost lost the youngster at least once en-route. His blood pressure was critically low and he'd saturated four thick field dressings since lift-off.

After hearing such a report most surgeons would be shaking with trepidation. Not Carson, he saw this as an opportunity to cheat death once more. His piercing green eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Cupping his hand around his mouth, so as to be heard over the roar of the incoming rescue chopper, the self-professed adrenalin junkie barked orders to his staff. "As soon as they hit the tarmac we immediately head straight to the operating room, no short-cuts. Understood?"

"But sir, Major Davis is waiting for us..." Lieutenant Saunders began his eyes wide.

Oh just great, he suspected as much. Non-medical types rarely had a clue. They were all about reports and chain of command; Carson despised that facet of the military.

"I don't care if God himself tries to stop us, run him over. This kid is priority one!" Carson confirmed adamantly.

Debris swirled around their heads as the large helicopter landed. The doors promptly slid open. Two burly flight nurses unloaded a slender portable gurney and rushed forward, avoiding the still whirling chopper blades. One of the men hand bagged the victim with oxygen via an endotracheal tube as they moved.

Carson leaped up on the gurney straddling the kid's thin form with his knees, careful to avoid kneeling on him. Hunching over, as the others pushed the gurney along, he checked out his new patient.

The kid's pulse was thready; his skin cold, clammy and gray. In fact he had all the classic symptoms one expected with hypovolemic shock. "Run another rider of 0.9 normal saline wide open." Carson snapped.

"Already ran three units of blood, two ringers and one saline..." One of the flight nurses mumbled as he hung the requested fluid.

Concentrating on his patient, Kyle ran gloved fingers gently over the boy's shoulder, easing aside the saturated dressings positioned there.

As soon as the pressure slackened, the kid's blood gushed forth rhythmically. "Damn, you were right Jennings, that frigging bastard nicked his subclavian."

Unable to inspect the wound properly while they were in motion, he guesstimated its location. If what he suspected were true then the bullet's trajectory may have done a good deal of internal damage. "Did you find an exit wound?"

Jenkins sucked in a long breath of self-reproach. "Ah, no sir Captain, none." Most likely the bullet had done more than tear a hole in the kid's subclavian artery.

"Explains a lot doesn't it?" Kyle motioned for the man to stop bagging the kid briefly and placed his stethoscope against his bloodstained chest.

The lad's heartbeat was shifted, irregular as hell and faint. "Have the OR set up for a chest tube... he's got a left pneumothorax... apical pulse is shifted, erratic and barely perceptible..." Unless he was terribly wrong, (and he was never wrong) they were dealing with a case of trauma induced cardiac tamponade.

Straddling his patient atop a rapidly moving gurney was no place for the delicate procedure required to address the kid's condition. They needed to get to the operating room - and fast! "Make sure an intra-cardiac kit and an ultrasound machine are standing by, this is gonna be close..."

Pushing the gurney into the elevator, veteran flight nurses Ted Winter and Harvey Jenkins exchanged a knowing look of dread.

Jon's lung had collapsed. Worse, blood was leaking into the thin fibroserous pericardial sac surrounding his delicate heart muscle preventing it from pumping properly. And, if something wasn't done immediately to relieve that pressure, the kid's heart would fail.

The last remnant of Jack O'Neill was seconds away from cardiac arrest and death.

On to Chapter Ten